Chapter 26

John dropped into the nearest chair and sighed. It had been a very, very tense morning. Sherlock had finished his breakfast, drank enough tea for three people, and then he disappeared into his brother's study for an hour. It didn't take John long to start worrying. Most kidnap victims needed a certain amount of time to recover after such an ordeal, but Sherlock...what had he been doing? When John had finally managed to slip into Mycroft's study, he found Sherlock typing away on a laptop, his fingers flying, his brow creased in thought.

"What's all this, Sherlock?"

"Working," Sherlock answered, his voice barely audible.

"You feel up to a bit of work, then?"

"When I don't feel up to work, that's when you should worry," Sherlock told him.

"Exactly what are you working on?"

"Things."

John fought down the urge to groan. "What specific things?"

"A great many and all are of vital importance."

"So, you're just going to keep tapping away at the keyboard, then?"

"I am."

The doorbell rang. Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned. "It looks like things will have to wait," he said.

"Why?" John asked. Outside in the hall, he could hear people talking.

"Mummy and Daddy are here."

What followed were some of the most uncomfortable hours of John's life as Mummy and Daddy Holmes swept into the room to hug and kiss their long-missing boy hello. There was a deluge of questions and demands for answers and pleas for him to talk to them and let them know he was okay. Sherlock did talk, but John noticed that even when he answered their questions, he didn't tell them much of anything. He also noticed that he was incredibly patient with them as both of them gave him hug after hug. He'd never thought of Sherlock as someone who openly showed affection, but there he was, accepting hugs and kisses from his parents.

It was a bit surreal to watch.

Their visit extended over lunch, and Sherlock was encouraged by both his parents to "eat up" and "tuck in." He did both and he even had seconds of the soup and the vegetables. Oddly enough, Mycroft didn't touch anything. After lunch, they headed into the sitting room and talked for another hour or so before Mycroft stood up.

"I'm sorry to do this, but Sherlock is still under doctor's orders to rest," Mycroft said with his blandest smile. "His ordeal and all."

"You should have said something sooner, Mike!" Mrs. Holmes reproached her son. "Here we are, nattering away, and Sherlock is no doubt exhausted! Shame on you for not reminding us!"

The look on Mycroft's face said I just can't win as both Mr. and Mrs. Holmes bustled out of the room and headed for the door, Mrs. Holmes turning around again and again to remind Sherlock to rest, to eat, and to not fret too much...in short, he was to take care of himself and ring if he needed anything or just if he wanted to talk.

John heard Sherlock and Mycroft both give a solemn promise to ring if anything came up and then the Holmes parents were gone. John stayed in his chair and just breathed, his ears suddenly ringing in the silence. "Those were your parents?" He couldn't believe it. He'd never heard any two people who could fill a room just with their words. How had the two Holmes brothers ever gotten a word in while they lived with their parents?

"A cross we have to bear," Mycroft said, chagrin dripping on every word. He stopped and looked around. "Where's Sherlock?"

"Probably in the study," John said, leaning his head back against his chair. "He said he was working on something."

"Oh, no," Mycroft groaned, heading for the study. "He doesn't need to be working right now; he needs rest!"

"Do not mention that word again in my hearing, Mycroft," John heard Sherlock say after the study door opened. "I've had enough rest for a hundred people for a hundred years!"

John headed into the study before Sherlock could try to kill his brother. The tone in Sherlock's voice was dangerous.

"You're pale, your hands are trembling, you're looking drawn and you have just been rescued from your captivity, not to mention you just had a visit from our parents. Of course you need rest, little brother."

"I'm fine," Sherlock insisted.

As Sherlock raised one hand to brush his hair away from his eyes John had to admit to himself that Mycroft had a point. Sherlock's hands were shaking, and there was very little color in his face. He looked like he was about to collapse.

"I do have to applaud you for the brilliant show you put on for Mummy and Daddy, Sherlock, but you don't have to pretend with me," Mycroft said firmly. "I can only guess how you're feeling right now, but all outward signs point to..."

Sherlock shot to his feet and advanced on his brother, grabbing him by the lapels of his suit and pushing him up against the wall. "You said I put on a good show, Mycroft? Well, it takes a master to execute a masterpiece! You've been putting on a very good show since early this morning!"

"What are you on about, Sherlock?" Mycroft snapped, pushing his brother away.

Sherlock started pacing. "You received a bit of news this morning that shook you to your very core, a piece of information that's made you very, very frightened, indeed, but you won't own up to the fact that you received it or what you think it may mean, but it does frighten you! You don't know how to approach the topic with me, and you're afraid of what my reaction will be when you finally get up the courage to tell me! So, what is it, Mycroft? What have you been hiding behind your teeth all day?"

"If I've said nothing, then that means that I don't wish to discuss it, Sherlock," Mycroft stated coldly. "Now, I've work to do. May I please have my study to myself?"

Sherlock glared at his brother and stalked out. John could hear him as he crossed the hall and headed up the steps.

"Out, John," Mycroft ordered.

"Sorry, I don't take orders from Mycroft Holmes," John said evenly.

Oh, the look on Mycroft's face. Priceless. "What was that?"

"Tell me what you wouldn't tell him," John said.

"You've run mad if you think I'll share that with you."

"Why won't you share it with me?" John asked, his voice as smooth as silk. He'd talked to Mycroft enough times that he had some idea of how to get answers...well, he would get them.

"Because you'll run straight off to Sherlock and tell him!" Mycroft sank into the chair behind his desk.

"What if I say I won't? What if I promise?"

The look Mycroft gave him told John how well Mycroft thought of his ability to keep secrets from Sherlock. "No, John. That's final."

John thought about everything he'd heard and seen that day and came to a conclusion. "It has to do with James Wright, doesn't it? The one that was being kept captive along with Sherlock. You found out something about him and it's frightened you."

Mycroft was on his feet. "Wouldn't you be afraid?" he hissed. "Your brother kidnapped with who knows what happening to him and you can't find him or help him for months and then you find out...!"

"Find out what?" John pressed. He was close to answers.

Wordlessly, Mycroft gave a sigh of capitulation and handed him a file folder. "Be absolutely sure you want to read what's in there, John, before you open it."

John nodded. "I'm sure. It's possible that I can help, but I can't help if I don't know anything."

"On your head be it," Mycroft said grimly as John sat and opened the folder.

Inside the folder were printouts of medical notes, dated the night before. The name on them was James Wright (how had Mycroft gotten these?) and what he was reading...Each page was worse than the last and as he finished reading the last page he could feel his gorge rising. He looked at Mycroft. "Where?"

Mycroft needed no further explanation than that. "In the hall, first door on the right."

John almost ran there, and once he was there, he spent the next quarter of an hour retching into the toilet. Once his stomach couldn't come up with anything else, he rinsed out his mouth and stood there, holding onto the sink and shaking.

"Now I know why you haven't eaten much today," John said shakily, sinking into his chair once he'd returned to the study. "He was there seven years...how...how often do you think...?"

"I don't know, and I hope I never know," Mycroft said quietly. "The thought that's been driving me mad all day is if the same thing could have possibly happened to Sherlock."

John stared at him. "Oh, no. No, no, no."

Mycroft nodded. "I know that plenty of people find my brother...attractive. Both men and women. In your examination of Sherlock last night, did you notice anything at all that would lead you to believe that what has happened to James Wright has happened to him?"

"Nothing I saw, but it would require a...a more thorough exam," John admitted.

Mycroft sighed. "I doubt he's going to let you do a more thorough exam without a good reason," he said. "And Sherlock was right that I am reluctant to discuss this with him. Not knowing, though, may kill me. To think that that man...that he could possibly have..."

"We don't know that, and there's nothing that we've seen or learned so far to make us think that it possibly happened to Sherlock," John said, trying to calm Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes in a temper could be...dangerous. "Has Rowlesden been asked if he...?"

Mycroft shook his head. "You can't ask a man you don't have in custody," he said wearily. "We have his security detail, though, and they have been questioned. Rowlesden was alone with Sherlock on several occasions...and I don't like to think of what that implies."

John stared at Mycroft, his stomach dropping. "He's not in custody?"

Mycroft shook his head again. "No. We have the woman Ms. Lewis, Dr. Black, the security detail, as I said, and a few others, but Rowlesden has disappeared. I do have people looking, of course, and now you understand why I've been reluctant to talk to Sherlock about things today. I don't know how he'll take the news or a question about what Rowlesden might have forced him to do."

"It may not have happened," John reminded him.

"James Wright was captive there seven years," Mycroft said. "According to what we found in Rowlesden's house, the man was obsessed with Mr. Wright. He allowed Mr. Wright very little privacy, and we even found a journal of his. It is...explicit...in what he thought about Mr. Wright and how he felt and...what he wanted to do to him. It was also explicit on the occasion that it first happened, a matter of little over a month ago. That was the first time. Rowlesden wrote that he made sure 'his Jamie' would choose to come to him. What he threatened the man with, I can't say, but for most people, there's always something. At first, after I read that journal, I was hoping that Rowlesden was just deluding himself and writing nonsense and his daydreams, but after reading Mr. Wright's medical files, I agree with the doctor and the medical staff. It happened."

"What makes them sure it happened?"

Mycroft gave him a look.

"Oh." John got up and started pacing, thinking hard. "I think we should sit him down and ask him. Have both of us there. Break it to him gently and then see what he says."

"And if he lies? What if it did happen and he lies and says it didn't? What do we do then?"

"I suppose…we'll have to tell him. Call me crazy, Mycroft, but I don't think he'll lie about something like this."

"He may lie to allay our worries," Mycroft pointed out. "He's done that in the past to both of us."

John wanted to dispute that, but he had to admit that Sherlock had done exactly that on more than one occasion. "Let's keep our fingers crossed, shall we?"

Mycroft nodded. "When do you think we should talk to him?"

John thought about it. "The longer we wait, the harder it will be, both for him and for us."

"That's what I was afraid of," Mycroft groaned. "All right. Let's go."

Sherlock's POV:

When John and Mycroft came to his room Sherlock had a feeling that something was up. He'd been busy tapping away at a computer, immersed in what he was doing, but something in the set of their shoulders and jaws told him that they had something unpleasant do and they wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. "What is it?"

Mycroft ignored the question and looked at the laptop he was working on. "Where did you get that, Sherlock?"

"Your bedroom. I know this is your personal laptop since the one you use for work is kept in a locked drawer in your study most of the time when you have company in the house, and the one you use for your personal projects is on the desk in your study. I didn't think you'd mind if I used this one."

Mycroft's face said he minded somewhat, but his reaction told Sherlock all he needed to know about things. "Both of you have something you want to talk about, but neither of you really want to start. What is it?"

He knew that it was serious when both of them sat down on the edge of his bed and looked at him. Over the next hour, they managed to tell him exactly what had happened to James Wright and what their fears were. Finally, at last, they were able to ask him the question that was uppermost in their minds.

Sherlock felt his stomach lurch when they told him about what had happened to Halmsley. He got colder and colder as they went on and when the question was finally asked, he was cold right through.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked after a minute or so of silence. "Please say something."

It took him a moment. "No."

"No what?" John asked.

"In answer to your question, no. Nothing like that happened. I was never sexually assaulted while I was at Rowlesden's."

As soon as Mycroft looked at him, Sherlock felt his stomach sink. Damn. Mycroft could read well enough between the lines to know that he had been hurt and that he was wondering just what exactly had happened.

"How is James?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft checked his phone. "According to what my person at Royal London tells me, he is better than he was last night. Last night, he...became overwrought. They're not sure what caused his agitation, but they did give him something to help him calm down, and this afternoon he is better. He has requested to see you."

Sherlock blinked. "We're going to London?"

"We're just visiting," Mycroft said quickly. "A few hours, that's all."

"Why?" Sherlock asked. "After we visit the hospital, John and I can go to Baker Street. Easy."

"No, you can't," Mycroft said, bringing up another picture on his phone and showing it to Sherlock. "Take a look at that."

Sherlock stared at the photo. It was a crowd of people, cameras, microphones, and news vans outside Baker Street. "What are they all doing there?"

"They want to see the Hat Detective," Mycroft told him, his tone filled with sarcasm. "Does the Hat Detective want to see them?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea," John said quickly. "That many people...you don't need that kind of stress."

Sherlock sighed. He'd been afraid of this. "I understand that my recent ordeal has frightened both of you, and I understand that you both want to...protect me right now, but that's not necessary."

They were both staring at him now. "What do you mean?" Mycroft asked.

"I'm fine," Sherlock stated. "I'm not about to fall apart, have a panic attack, or undergo any type of distress. I'm fine."

John shook his head. "No, Sherlock. No, you're not fine. You're okay right now, but you're not fine. It takes time, actually, a lot of time, to recover from a kidnapping. It will take you time."

"Then why do I feel fine?" Sherlock wanted to know.

"Because you're fooling yourself," Mycroft said. "You're not fine. You're calm now, but that won't last."

Sherlock glared at him. "You sound as if you're waiting for it to happen."

"I am."

Sherlock could not believe what he was hearing. "Your confidence in me is overwhelming, Mycroft."

"Mycroft's right."

Now it was John's turn to be stared at. "What?!"

"I said, Mycroft's right," John repeated. "Recovering from an abduction of a few days can take a year or more. Recovering from one that was months in duration...it will take even longer. It will be a long process and depending on what happened to you while you were there, it will take a long time, Sherlock. Don't try to fool yourself, because that will make your recovery that much harder."

Sherlock shrugged. "Don't be dramatic, John. I'm fine." He didn't really understand what John was talking about. He was out of Rowlesden's hands, and he would never be in that position again, so of course, he was fine.

"We can talk about it later," Mycroft said. "Sherlock, when would you like to go see Mr. Wright?"

Sherlock shut down the laptop. "Right now is good. Can we go now?"

Mycroft dialed his phone. Within the hour they were in a car and headed toward Royal London Hospital. Sherlock stared out the tinted window and groaned when he saw a police car pull out in front of them. Another one pulled out behind them a moment later.

"Why do we need a police escort?" Sherlock demanded as the cars' lights and sirens switched on.

"Because I felt it was necessary," Mycroft said. "Don't be childish about it, Sherlock."

"A police escort will only draw attention to us, and I thought you wanted me to avoid attention and any attendant stress," Sherlock reminded him.

Mycroft reached across the space between them and patted his shoulder. "It will be fine, Sherlock."

Sherlock settled back in his seat and ignored his brother for the rest of the trip. When they finally reached the hospital a policeman waved them through to a back entrance. There were more police to meet them and to usher them inside, and one of the hospital staff was waiting to escort them to James Wright's room. There was security outside the room, but they got to their feet as Mycroft approached. Mycroft stopped and appeared to be thinking.

"Sherlock, would you like to go in first? Say hello?"

That tiny gesture of trust actually made him smile. "Thank you, Mycroft."

The security stepped aside and let him slip into the room. James was curled on his side, asleep, but the sleeping figure in the chair next to the bed surprised him. "Lacey?"

Her eyes opened, fixed on him, and in the next moment, she was flying through the air toward him. He caught her just before she could fall to the floor, and then he was being hugged around the neck. "Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock tried to shush her. "Quiet! You'll wake up..." He looked past her and sighed. "Hello, James."

Jamie smiled. "Hello, Sherlock. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," Sherlock confessed, looking him over. "How are you feeling?"

James sat up and made himself comfortable, raising the back of the bed so he could lean against it. "Better. Last night I was a mess, though. Glad that's over."

Sherlock set Lacey on her feet and approached the bed. "I'd heard you..."

"Had a meltdown?" James finished. "Yeah. It was like a LOT of emotions tried to get out all at once. My doctor was there and helped me through it, and once it looked like I was starting to calm down, he gave me something so I could actually get some rest. You should have seen me! I was shaking like a twig in a gale!"

Lacey perched on the edge of her brother's bed. "You are not a twig," she stated.

He smiled and took her hand. "If you say so, princess."

"When did you arrive, Lacey?" Sherlock asked. He was pleased to see her again.

"This morning. These men came, said you sent them, and brought me here in a helicopter."

Sherlock blinked. He had sent them? "How did you know they were from me?"

She grinned. "They used our pass code. You know, the one I included in the information to your website so you would know that the message was from me?"

Sherlock found himself smiling. "Ah, that. 'Dear me, Mr. Holmes.' I have to tell you, Lacey, the way you encoded that information was brilliant. I didn't send those men, though."

Jamie's eyes fastened on him and stared him down. "You didn't? If you didn't, who did?"

"I did," Mycroft said as he entered the room. "Please pardon my intrusion; I felt as if I owed you and your sister some explanation. I sent those men to retrieve Lacey, and my people found the file containing that information and that pass code, so I felt it was a good bet that Lacey would trust it. I had her brought here so she could reassure herself that you were all right, and having those we love about us can aid in our recovery after a troubling ordeal."

Jamie let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. For a second, I was afraid that Rowlesden might have...you know."

"Is he in jail?" Lacey asked.

"Not yet, but he is being pursued by the best in the country," Mycroft promised. "It's only a matter of time."

"Good," Lacey said. "Just in case, though, you might want to check out Pinewood Flats in Birmingham. That's a small front of his, and since they're presently closed for renovation, no one will be there. It might be a good place for him to hide."

Mycroft whipped out his phone and started texting. "Thank you, young lady."

"You're welcome," she said politely before turning to her brother. "Jamie, are you hungry?"

He smiled. "A bit, actually. Could you run down and get me some soup and a sandwich from the canteen?"

She scooted out of the room and Sherlock was pleased to see one of the security detail outside the door go with her.

"She's charmed the entire staff," Jamie said, settling back into his pillows. "It'll take her about fifteen minutes to get back here, so is there anything you want to talk about that you don't want her to hear?"

Sherlock steepled his fingers and looked at Jamie. Then, he got up from his chair and approached the bed. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Jamie asked, his confusion plain.

Sherlock swallowed hard. "I pride myself on my deductive powers, but I am...an idiot. I should have seen...I should have realized...What happened to you should not have happened. I should have known, and I should have stopped him once I was there...I should have...please, I'm sorry..."

"Ah. So you know about that." Jamie shook his head. "Sherlock, you have nothing to apologize for."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said. "I should have seen something. Anything! I was there for months and I was completely blind!"

"Sherlock, I'll say it again," Jamie said. "You have nothing to apologize for. You had your hands full with figuring out a way to get away from Rowlesden and you had no energy to spare on me."

"I should have had! You even came to my room one night to hide from him and I saw marks on you...I should have known better!" Once again, he felt as if he were shaking apart. He dropped into a chair and sat there, his hands clenched together and one leg jumping up and down.

"Sherlock, please calm down, or I shall be forced to call a doctor," Mycroft said lightly, breaking the tension in the room.

"What the bloody hell is a doctor going to do?" Sherlock asked, getting up to pace again.

"It's not too late to get a bed for you here," Mycroft reminded him. "You are a rational person, so I know you'll behave in a rational manner. Calm down."

It took a minute or so, but eventually, he did calm down.

"It was my choice," Jamie said at last. "He didn't give me much of one, but it was my choice."

"Bollocks," Sherlock said. "There was no choice for you to make. He coerced you; he probably threatened your sister with something and gave you an ultimatum. Isn't that what happened?"

Jamie gave a rueful smile and shook his head. "I never could put one over on you, could I?"

Sherlock rubbed his temples. "I am so, so sorry, Jamie. I mean I..."

"Would you please stop apologizing for something that wasn't your fault?" Jamie said. "Really, Sherlock. What happened...I always knew that it would happen. From the moment he took me there, I knew what would happen. I held him off as long as I could, but I'd mentally prepared myself for it, and it wasn't too bad. I'm already in counseling for it, and I know that I'm not all right now, but eventually, I'll be able to get past this. Please don't make this into a lifelong obstacle for yourself. If you can't do it for yourself, then do it for me, and for the people who care about you. Would you do that? Please?"

Sherlock gave a slow nod. "All right. I can do that." He stopped and looked at Jamie. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Jamie shook his head. "Not really. All of mine and Lacey's expenses have been taken care of and we have everything we need. It turns out that our parents actually left us a good bit of money, enough so that we'll be comfortable for a good long time. Lacey's schooling will be taken care of, and I'll be able to go back to painting."

Sherlock gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Your parents left you money?"

Jamie nodded. "They did. Turns out their lawyer misplaced the information needed. All their assets and such are accessible to us now. We're...financially secure, and I have to say, it's a comfortable feeling."

Lacey returned then, with her brother's soup and sandwich, and for a short while they just talked about things. Sherlock did not ask Jamie if Lacey knew and Jamie did not offer the information, but he had a strong feeling that Lacey might have guessed or deduced it on her own. When it looked as if Jamie was tiring, they took their leave and met up with John out in the hall after promising to visit again. Sherlock didn't say anything until they were in the car headed back to Mycroft's.

"Odd that a lawyer would misplace information," he said. "Thank you, Mycroft, for what you did for them."

"And what did I do?"

Sherlock glanced at his brother and then stared out the window. "Give me some credit, Mycroft. They were all but destitute before Rowlesden forced his way into their lives, and after they are rescued, money just magically appears?"

John looked from Mycroft to Sherlock and back again. "Good on you, Mycroft."

"I would prefer not to discuss it," Mycroft said lightly, checking his pockets. "Oh, damn. I left my mobile."

"The man who protects the free world, and he forgets his mobile," Sherlock joked.

"Hush, little brother," Mycroft said firmly before ordering the driver to take them back to the hospital. John and Sherlock stayed in the car, guarded by the driver and a policeman, and within ten minutes Mycroft had returned and they were on their way again.

"That girl is formidable," Mycroft stated as they left London. "She'd managed to figure out my password."

Sherlock fought down a chuckle. "Really? What was she looking at?"

"Nothing really," Mycroft admitted. "She was playing a game when I got there."

Now it was John's turn to laugh. "Despite being brilliant, she still acts like a typical kid. Good for her."

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, good for her."

Mycroft's POV:

They got back to the house late. Mycroft knew his brother was still tired and that was confirmed when Sherlock said that he wanted to go to bed. Mycroft wished him and Dr. Watson good night before heading to his study. He needed to think.

Seeing James Wright had shaken him a bit. Sherlock did not have many friends, but the ones he did have tended to be above the common touch. James Wright had been...impressive. He'd been through hell, yet he was still able to...The man had a heart too large for any mere human creature.

"I have to thank you, Mr. Wright, but I couldn't very well do it while Sherlock was here," he said, clutching his umbrella as if it were a lifeline. "What you did for Sherlock..."

"I didn't do anything," Mr. Wright said, shrugging his shoulders.

Mycroft glanced around the room. "Where's your sister?"

"Gone down the hall to get herself a soft drink."

"Then I'll be brief. I know that Rowlesden threatened my brother. I know that your decision to...well. I know that what you did spared him from a great deal of suffering. Sherlock never wants to admit that he would not be able to handle anything thrown at him, but I know that what Rowlesden was threatening him with would have...broken...him. You saved him from that. You have my eternal thanks and deepest, most heartfelt gratitude."

"I'm not going to say it was nothing," Mr. Wright said, fiddling with the edge of his blanket. "He's my friend. I care about him. He and I...we sort of started to lean on each other to get through things. I'd already experienced a great deal of what Rowlesden could do, and I wanted to protect him as much as I could. When I first met him, I thought he would be a right pain, but as I got to know him, I realized that he was my friend, and friends protect each other."

Mycroft could remember smiling. "You're like Dr. Watson in that regard. He's said the same thing to Sherlock more than once. Thank you for proving it, and thank you a thousand times, and then a thousand times again, for protecting my brother."

"You are welcome," Mr. Wright said. "I would like to thank you as well."

"For what?"

"For helping that lawyer find a will and information that did not exist."

Lacey was not the only formidable one in that family. Mr. Wright had been absolutely correct, though. His parents had left them practically penniless, so he'd arranged a fund for them so they could live comfortably. Lacey's school fees were paid through until graduation, and then if she cared to claim it, there was money and an arrangement for university. With the funds they now had, they would be able to purchase a comfortable home and go on with their lives, and Mr. Wright would be able to start his recuperation.

Whether Sherlock would do the same was still an open question.